I don't want to eat breakfast
Or watch my favorite show
Don't want to eat lunch either
Or take walks in the snow

I don't want to watch leaves turn
Or take trips to the beach
Don't really want to read my books
And I don't want to teach

I don't want to take a bath
Don't want to call my friends
I don't want to play in rain
My gosh, this never ends

I don't want to change my clothes
Or pet the neighbor's dog
I just want someone to say
How long this will go on

I don't want to meet new friends
Or see old ones, either
I don't want to see anyone
Or to be lonely, neither.

And I don't need to be in love
I don't want a new car
Today, I just want to be done,
My life has gone too far

So tell me that it's over now
And that I can finally sleep
Then slowly watch me fade away
Pray the LORD my soul to keep

---

I will Paint you a Husk from my Depths.  
No matter how Loud,  
how Far I Rend my Voice,  
the Emptiness Hears.  
Nothing Comes.  

---

Suspended in a Sallow Amber,  
I Cry and Thrash until I Croak—  
Raw Throat, Drowning in Red-Agony Wails.  

My Cries Obscur,  
Drowned by Humanity's Squalling Chorus.  

---

Zenith's Reach  

I kept Traveling up the Hell-Scorched  
Steeple, Birthed from Nightmare's Chasm.  
Over,  
and Over,  
OVER.  

Finally, Enduring my Ever-Gale,  
I made it to Zenith's Edge.  

My Heart Raptured,  
Pleading—My Maker in Revel.  

You Ignored my Rasping Dirge.  
My Lord, I am Torn across the Floor.  

You Went,  
and  

Shut the Door.  


God are you in pain just as I
Your existence,
Were you Forced to be Alive?
So Long that it Contrasts Us Whole.
You Our ever Weeping-God.
Whose Tears Attest Time

Martyr Of Sorrow


---

Our True Selves  

Time's Ethereal Claws ever Sunder—  
a Forever Phantom that Lingers  
without Invitation, Intrusive by Nature,  
to where it’s Unfathomable to Grasp Entire.  

Your Specter—  
I See it Clearly,  
the Figure Donned Behind the Mask.  

I Recognize You Now,  
my Being Forever Writhing:  
a Hand with Veiled Motives  
that Brought Ageless Wounds.  

I can Gaze upon Your True Self Now—  
You, my Own Harbinger of Decimation.  

---

Wailing Storm  

How do I Convey my Unfiltered,  
Volatile Emotions?  

I Endure—  
the Hellish Squalls,  
Neverending Gale in my Mind—  
into my Voice?  

You who Seared Deep Splinters,  
Woven within my Being,  
No matter how Much the Reassurance Weighs.  
My Mind:  
Paradoxical Entropy,  
Forever Believing the Opposite  

Birthing my Absconful End,  
I Wish for only a Moment’s Rest.  

Yet the World Abjures me,  
Scattering Myself  
into the Wailing Storm,  

whose Innocence Pilfered  
by Humanity's Unfaithful Nature.  

Birthed Abundant as a Bounty,  
Waned too Early, Wrought by Men,  
Felt as a Wrinkle in Humanity—  

Awaiting to be Struck by Iron's Ire,  
Inflicting me with Unshakable Doom.  

---

Our Plight  

I cannot Unsee it.  
Perhaps All of Us are the True Monsters Beneath,  
the Ones we Strive to Warn About.  

Humanity’s Failed Doctrine is a Facade.  
We All are Strifed,  
Masking our Hidden Selves.  

I cannot Resist but Agree:  
Hell is Empty—  
the Devil was Steeped Inside Us All Along.  

Yet Each Day,  
the Dreadful Phantom Keeps Consuming,  
an Insatiable Debt,  
Bending me Terribly to Pay without Consent,  
Whirling my Viscous Cycle—  

Nevermore,  
yet into Endless Torment.  

---

The Wind  

I am but a Sufferer,  
Shackled in the Maw of Past Echoes,  
Striving to be as the Unborn,  
Ever-Trapped by my Dogma,  
in an Unbounded Loop—  

where Help can Never Help.  

Past Actions Howl  
like Autumn’s Haunting Wind.  

Obsessed with Wind’s Tithing,  
the Way it Whistles and Breathes—  
a Hollow, Beautiful Tone.  

Envious of Winds, Aureate and Free,  
Stretching Far, Endlessly Heard.  

Eternally Wishing for Thoughts  
to Stretch into Oblivion,  

as Our Forgotten Do,  
that Dream Solace Beneath our Feet.  

---

Equinotic Slumber  

Still You Reach from Far Beyond,  
a Scorchful Hand in the Scar of Earth,  
Sundering Deep-Etched Echoes,  
where my Festering Thoughts Rot Unheard.  

I will Forever Bask in Neverending Equinox,  
where my Nightmares Pool in the Desolate Ebon—  
to a Stilled, Stagnant State.  

My Screams ever Dissipate,  
Flickering Out  
into the Place where Nightmares Sleep.

It’s one of those days again, accompanied by a dull ache,
Where even walking, even rising from bed, feels like a task.
My eyes stare blankly at the walls — life is wuthering,
But I make it a point to wear a mask.

This mask tries to obscure the pain within,
But we all know it’s a sham — the ones who matter can see it all.
They try to cheer me, say, “Get busy,”
But how to explain? Busyness cannot solve it at all.

i just wanted something normal
something that made life make a little more sense
but since you have no inkling on the meaning
of what peace is
and love seems to be the bane of your existence
insistent on making me suffer you.
my love for you, a redeeming quality
to be a blessing for a curse
each day seems to be worse
with a random sparkling moment
just to hold me hostage longer.
i thought i was stronger
and you seem to brighten when i fail to enlighten;
when i am my vulnerable self.
who hurt you?
because now you are the poster child for why i need to heal.
and theres nothing gracious about breaking:
clawing me down just to prove you're real.

I talked to god
And he told me to be vulnerable
I asked why as I'm already full of cuts and bloodied. 
You can see I'm battle worn. 

He said show them your vulnerability
So I did 
And I got cut up some more. 

I'm left wondering why.

I don't understand it
I don't know why
But the pain is so deep
I wish I could die

Been praying to the saints
Demanding why
They don't take me away
So I can fly.
 
Maybe then I can get some peace
Maybe then I'll be free
Maybe then I can get some sleep
Without the pain reminding me

But the saints never ******* answer me.

elation station
to moody blues
I take it in, breathe
and I reminisce

She pulls at me
but I won't give in;
i'm no longer the stardust
in the night, but a calm
breeze that you barely
notice, and I like it that way.

She wants me to be
the storm, but there's a
child who just wants to
be happy whose whispers
I make out in the static.

I can't pretend I miss you..
...
but I do miss the thought of you.

Warning-This poem contains themes of suicide, self harm, and depression.

My first depressive episode was last May.
My friend was on the phone with my boyfriend, and I worried he wouldn't date me for much longer.
I didn't even like boys,
I just wanted to feel loved.
I sat in the rain and thought about killing myself.
"What is happening to me?" I asked myself.
Maybe it was jealousy,
Maybe it was my period.
But I knew there was something wrong.

I had another depressive episode in August.
I couldn't stop thinking about self harm and suicide.
I tried to enjoy my vacation in Washington at my grandma's house,
but it was hard to enjoy while I was silently suffering.
I relapsed on self harm after that.

It happened again in November.
I filed a suicide report on myself at school.
Even though I had a school play that day, and a vacation later in the week, I couldn't bring myself to want to live.
I was pulled into the counselor's office at school and got sent home.
I cried on the couch when I got back home.

Again in December.
I was used to this by now.
I banged my head on my bedframe because I so desperately wanted to punish myself.
I was stuck in flashbacks of my trauma.
"If this is my life," I'd tell myself,
"then I don't want to be here anymore."
I cut myself on the train tracks and visualized myself getting hit by a train.
What made it worse was being cheated on.

The worst of my depression was in February.
I was hospitalized on Valentine's Day.
I had a plan to run in front of a train on the 15th,
and I had to sleep on my parents' floor so I wouldn't hurt myself
until I was admitted to a residential treatment center.

Now, I'm on better medications to help with my depressive episodes.
I'm still not perfect,
and not necessarily thriving or doing well,
but I'm doing better.
Thankfully.

Warning- This poem contains themes of depression and suicide.
Note-This is an older poem so it is a bit different from my other ones.

The skies are gray,
The curtains are closed.
My neighbors probably think
that no one is home.

I can't say I disagree,
I don't feel like me.
Maybe tomorrow
I won't be here anymore.

Sometimes I want to disappear,
So I just lay here,
practically in a sea of my own tears.
Thoughts cloud my mind,
Darker than the sky,
Cries and telling lies,
No one knows what's wrong with me.

I don't go to the doctor's,
But maybe soon the morgue.
Call the coroner,
Maybe they'll know what's wrong.

I think I know what's going on
But I don't think I can leave
This bottomless pit that has swallowed me.

Time feels empty,
but my mind is the opposite.
My heart is sinking
like an anchor on a boat in the sea.

My face is drenched with waterfalls;
Tears leave my eyes at a timeless pace.
All of this crying has stained my face.
My pillowcases are wet with sorrow.

I don't know how to live with such pain,
Yet I've gone so long.
But it's taken my life away,
It won't be long till I'm finally gone.

There's nothing more to say except the color gray.
It stains the day
And pains the way
That I can see colors.
It's been three years since I have seen sunshine,
A sweeter time.

When I was innocent,
And time came and went,
I could count seconds and minutes,
I felt I had no limits.
I could fly.

Now,
no matter how hard I try,
I am unable to fly.
My wings have been disabled,
Crooked with the passing of time
That of which I cannot sense.

I feel paralyzed
Like I'm trapped inside of an electric fence,
one with barbed wire that stabs my hands.
It makes me so tired to feel so trapped and unable to speak.

My body has broken down.
I've become weak.
All I can hope
is that the color gray
may not last another day.